


Quench

by primeideal



Category: Original Work
Genre: Extra Treat, F/F, Human Sacrifice, Tutelary Deity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 09:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13633785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: When the goddess Yawsi woke to walk among her people again, she did not expect to see a human locked away within her shrine.





	Quench

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Morbane for beta assistance.

A dozen years had passed since Yawsi had drunk, and she woke to dessication.

She made herself small, her skin nearly as parched as those of the Chawsil below, dark hair tied back with a bright red ribbon that flapped and beat against her in the night winds. The breezes carried to her the soul-stirrings of her people. Curiosity from ingenuous children, devotion from elders, revulsion and skepticism and relief. And, intermingled with all these, the tastes of dread and hope, anxiety and longing.

They welled up from near the shrine, and Yawsi delighted in the building’s simple frame as she walked towards it. Yet as she drew closer, she felt it was not a gathering of worshipers, but only a single form, keeping still behind bars. Had the Chawsil fallen so far, to use her shrine as some common jail?

No, they couldn’t have. It was not so long a time, to forget what neglecting her would mean for their land.

Yawsi walked inside. A sparkling mosaic of many colors showed the path of the great river, and the cycles of the moons and stars above in their seasons. The embroidered tapestries hanging on the walls, showing the spring rain, was new since her last awakening.

Below the shrine, a spiral staircase led to the basement, where the young woman she had sensed gave a start. She was well-dressed for a prisoner, a bright blue shirt overlaying a dark gown.

“What is this place?” Yawsi demanded, before the woman could speak.

“Are you daft?” the woman said, sounding offended. “This is the shrine of Yawsi the Nourisher.”

Well, it was good to know she was still remembered. “That is well. And is this—Yawsi the one who has kept you bound here?”

“You truly are an outlander. I bind myself here of my own will.”

“And is locking yourself away some rite of faith?” Yawsi could not endure alone without her people, but isolated asceticism gave her no sustenance.

“It is an honor to feed our goddess.”

The gush of sensations at last made sense; the surroundings, less so. “Forgive me,” she said. “Yes, I have heard your people speak of the ways of the Twelve-Year. But why keep you alone? If you were—willing?”

It had been many generations since she had consumed the flesh of an unwilling sacrifice. The human had screamed in horror as Yawsi had embraced her, and in silence, cursed those who had abandoned her there. Yawsi had had no way of targeting the elders specifically, but her floodwaters that cycle drowned humankind and cattle alike.

“Of course I was!” the woman retorted, her eyes flashing defiance again. “It was deemed fit I should be set apart to prepare. And so the others might ready their supplications.”

“I see,” Yawsi said. “Very well.” Twelve years was a long time for humans, she supposed. They might have built and discarded all manner of traditions in that time that meant little to her, so long as they continued to live and prosper.

She turned to leave, saving her dwindling strength for the days to come, but the woman called after her. “Who are you?”

Yawsi hesitated. “My brothers call me Devlak. The loyal one.”

They had followed warriors across rivers and fields, claiming the blood of enemies and traitors. But for her, nothing would satisfy but guarding the Chawsil through one century and the next, no matter the terms.

“And what is your name?” she asked. It would not be very honorable of her to turn and flee just when the woman was getting too inquisitive for her own good.

“Engrue,” said the sacrifice.

“A worthy name. Why did you take up the mantle of the Twelve-Year?”

It was a foolish question, Yawsi knew—she would find the answer soon—but the woman’s curiosity intrigued her. And it was better to keep Engrue talking than asking her own questions for the moment. As she’d hoped, Engrue’s eyes wandered, unfocused, then blinked.

“I had always put my trust in the Nourisher,” she said. “I was not full of doubt or fear or worldlove. But I had hoped to live in the world—build new mosaics, chart the star-plots, portage to the tributaries beyond the canyon.”

Yawsi gave a nod.

“And then the drought years came, and it felt all I wished to do had been done, or I was weak in flesh. Mosaics were an extravagance, candle-flames better suited to sorting the ripe crops than sketchwork, stronger and hardier folk could row twice as far in a day as I could. When the time drew near, I thought perhaps with some deed my life might be consummated.”

Her soul glowed with the truth, and Yawsi felt the pride she took in her calling. “That is well,” she said, a smile flitting across her lips. “May I give you pleasure, that you have some comfort in your isolation?”

For a moment she could feel Engrue’s puzzlement, almost indignation—she feared it a test, perhaps—but them that bloomed into curiosity. “There is no rule against such things,” Engrue said cautiously. “It is only that I did not expect to be intruded upon.”

Yawsi looked over at the far wall, where a key hung on a strand of string. “I do not like the look of these bars. Perhaps I might unlock your door, so that you would be free to leave if you were not committed to the Twelve-Year. Then I would know you had truly chosen your path.”

Engrue laughed. “I would be glad to show you my commitment, but I know little of love. Could I truly please one who has travelled so far?”

As if she knew the half of it! “I would not coerce you. An eager heart is all I would ask for.”

Engrue paused, then gave a smile. “I will try what I can.”

Yawsi took the key and opened the door, a creak echoing across the dark room. Engrue gave a shudder at the open door, then turned away from it as Yawsi walked inside. She lowered her chapped lips to Yawsi’s, then pulled back as if puzzled.

“Let the future alone,” Yawsi whispered. “Abide in the present.”

She felt Engrue’s mind rove; while she remained proud in her confinement, part of her beat back the receding past and the dim future. Slowly, Yawsi began to take off what she hoped were still-contemporary travelling garments. Her power had grown weak, and she hoped she managed to appear plain and unremarkable enough to give Engrue confidence in her own appearance. She did not entirely trust that she would not vanish and become a mountain wind, a cloud of dust, the sweat on a more haggard brow. It took her will to focus.

For a while Engrue merely stared in wonder, then her finger slowly traced the curves and savored the texture of Yawsi’s chest while Yawsi held her, Engrue’s slow enchantment redoubled in Yawsi’s mind. “Devlak,” Engrue murmured. The name sounded wrong from a human voice, yet Yawsi cherished it all the same. She felt Engrue’s mind calming as her body’s tense anticipation turned to a nearer satisfaction.

Then Engrue reached to take off her own shirt. “Can you show me the things you know?”

 _Only a few,_ Yawsi reckoned. “Gladly.”

Afterwards, when Engrue lay shivering, her mind drifting again, Yawsi tossed the clothes back at her. “Warm yourself, at the least.”

“Of course,” said Engrue, not looking at her. Yawsi knew it to be more than embarrassment, but did not probe further.  
  
“When is the rite?”

“Two days’ time.”

“Very good. I will come to you again?”

Engrue gave a smile, and a sigh of relief as Yawsi turned the key behind her.

* * *

“Are you well?” Engrue asked when Yawsi came the next night.

“Of course,” Yawsi asked. “What of you?”

“Tired of these walls,” said Engrue. “You seem ill.”

Had she shrunk further, withered by her hunger? “I’m only unused to these lands,” she said. “Pay it no mind.”

“You picked a poor time to venture here. You should see our riverbanks in the green years.”

“Knowing a land means loving it in both hard times and in good,” Yawsi said.

“Perhaps. But you cannot intend to stay here? Surely you have your own home to be—loyal to.”

The human had her there. “And I will appreciate it all the more for having been away,” she parried.

Engrue closed her eyes, as if trying to puzzle out Yawsi’s deception. But when she opened them, Yawsi had made her way within the cell once again, greeting her with a swift kiss.

“If you are hurt,” Engrue said, “speak out.”

Yawsi tried not to laugh. “I think I still have the strength to delight you.”

What she did not have, she quickly found, was the composure to remain still as Engrue sang the ancient name of “Devlak” into the cold night. The human touched her with a raw grace as Yawsi let her savor each stroke, each moment, and let thought and fear subside. But Engrue’s mind was still pulsing. Clearly, she yearned to fit a world, a cosmos of experience into their brief meeting. Yawsi, feeling exhaustion set in as her power weakened, could barely keep pace with her. Finally, Engrue gave a whimper, and Yawsi sensed her release.

The last time she had visited a living sacrifice, the man had thought their meeting a dream, but had somehow recognized Yawsi even then. The time before that, the woman had pulled on her—full of life and its many joys, she had wanted to leave her imprint on everyone she passed before the end, human or divine. But that had passed into myth long before, and perhaps even the myth had been forgotten.

“Perhaps it is for the best you came only in these days,” Engrue said, pulling on her gown. “Had we met earlier—I do not know if I would have had the strength to take this path.”

Not for the first time, Yawsi repressed her frustration at the ignorance of humans. Was it vanity, to hope no human could have delighted Engrue as she did, to bind her to the earth? Or was her own life so fragile that it hung on thousands of such chances and missed opportunities, leading humans to futures that seemed void of all hope?

But she had come to comfort the human, not to add torment with questions. “I have no doubt,” said Yawsi, “you would always have found a calling equal to the great strength that is within you, no matter the circumstances.”

She spoke as one who did not know the future, only the human before her. All she could sense of that which would take place in the world were the eternal cycles; what might be taken and what might be given in return.

“Once I leave this place I will be pledged to silence,” Engrue explained. “I’m glad to have found someone in whom I might confide my last words.”

“The joy was mine, noble dozen-gift.”

Engrue blinked—had her language been that archaic?—but went on. “For all you have shown me, for being here these nights...thank you.”

Yawsi stepped outside and locked the door. “Take heart. You will do your people proud.”

* * *

It took Engrue a long time to fall asleep, with Devlak’s eyes seeming to dance out of view when she tried. But sleep came, and when the clerics came for her, she bathed with fresh water. It was frivolous, she had protested, but they claimed she was still going to walk among the people. It was no more waste than on any other day.

Outside, she walked past scores of onlookers, heralded by horns of triumph and drums of lament. A few turned their backs on the procession, refusing to believe that a goddess would need sustenance, but many more came with their ribbons. In tiny scrawl, they—or the village scribe—had offered their prayers, hoped that Yawsi would listen to them even as she brought the healing rain.

One by one, the clerics fastened the small ribbons to Engrue’s arms and legs until they flapped against each other with every step. She remembered her mother dutifully inscribing a prayer twelve years before, in another village, as her father looked on in doubt. They would have been among the skeptics, she feared, had they seen her choice.

At last, they drew near the river’s edge, and the instrumentalists bowed before stepping away. One cleric began chanting about the grandeur of Yawsi, how she had constantly nourished the Chawsil people; that was Engrue’s cue to lie down, eyes open to the sky. The second cleric bound her ankles together, then her wrists.

She realized that the chant had switched, and it was extolling her own virtues: her faith in Yawsi, her humility in offering her life so that others might thrive. For a moment she feared that she could never be enough. Surely it was not humble to seek an end to craving, wanting, the sheer restlessness that burned within her? But in an instant, the fear passed.

“Let no drop of her blood be shed,” the second cleric intoned, rising and joining the musicians, “that every part of her be sweet and ready when the Nourisher descends.”

Like the old writings said, a dark cloud came out of a blue sky, at once throwing shadows and letting Engrue open her eyes wide without squinting, borne on no winds but the breath of the divine, shielding them from view. Yawsi’s appearance would be within the sacred cloud.

The first cleric knelt by Engrue’s head and grasped her neck in her strong hands, then pushed deep, blocking the dry air forever. Engrue gasped, and her body thrilled again as her vision faded.

 _Welcome, child_ , came a voice beyond perception, beyond reality. _You have served me well._

Pledge or no pledge, Engrue had no hope of speaking in the airless void. Yet still her mind made reply, sensing an enormous face regarding her from the heavens. _Loyal one?_

_You did not know me? But I knew you, in all your simplicity and pride, and claimed you even then._

Engrue exhaled, and let Yawsi gather her into eternity. The gentle rains fell, and the ground swelled with the heavenly waters.


End file.
